


Talk To Me

by dirtycirce (callmecirce)



Series: Miraculous One-Shots [5]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Identity Reveal, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmecirce/pseuds/dirtycirce
Summary: MariChat May, Day 25: Akuma Chat Noir.Adrien's demons push him to the point of self-harm once again, and Plagg has had enough.  If Adrien won't reach out for help, Plagg will.  What follows is both unexpected, and unexpectedly healing.





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, there is zero MariChat in this one, but this is what the muses gave me. This is also significantly darker and more explicit than what I typically write. If you're not in the mood for 4k words worth of angst and sex, then move along.

Adrien slid the bolt home with a satisfying thunk and sagged against the door wearily, chuckling mirthlessly.  At 22, he still didn’t have his own place, but at least he had a fucking bolt on his door. 

Plagg zipped up out of his hidden pocket to regard his chosen worriedly.  “You alright, kid?”

He brushed by his kwami in the dark without bothering to answer.  Plagg knew perfectly well what a shit show the day had been.  He dropped his bag carelessly to the floor by his desk.  His jacket and over shirt followed immediately after it.

“Shit, Adrien.  I know what you’re thinking.”

“Congratulations.”  He crouched to the mini fridge under the desk, and pulled out a cheese sampler plate, looking over it in the light from the open door.  “There’s Camembert on the platter tonight, Plagg.  Do us both a favor, and just enjoy your dinner.”  He stood and set it on the desk with a clatter.

The little black kwami didn’t so much as glance at the platter.  “Fuck cheese.  Don’t do this, kid.”

“You’re wasting your time.”  Adrien peeled off his under shirt and tossed it on the bed, then stalked to his low bookshelf.  There, he opened the small rectangular display case and lifted one of his _kunai_ from the silk lining.  He turned it carefully in his hands, and scoffed.

Supposedly, the Japanese knives had been a gift from his father, something he’d picked up for him on his Asian tour.  In reality, they’d no more come from his father than the blue scarf that Marinette had made for him years back.  _Nathalie_ had chosen them, to encourage his interest in martial arts.  And sure enough, he’d learned to use them as effectively as he could use a foil or epee.

He smiled bitterly. 

She’d have never bought them if she’d known he would eventually turn them on himself.

Adrien replaced the blade and lowered the lid.  With the box in hand, he turned to find his kwami hovering right behind him.  “He’s going to try for you again.”

“It’ll be fine.”  He brushed by the little cat again, and went to sit on the floor on the far side of his bed, with his back braced against it and the case on the floor next to him. 

Plagg drifted after him.  “You need to talk to someone.”

“No.” He retrieved the knife again and began to finger the blade pensively, turning it over and over in his hands.

“Ladybug.  Nino.  Marinette.  The Ladyblog girl, uh...Alya.  Anyone!”

“No.”  He slid his fingers down the flat of the blade almost sensually.

“I can’t watch you do this.”

“So don’t.”  In a single efficient movement, he sent it flying across the room to embed itself in the wall, and he pulled another knife from the case.  “Go eat your cheese.  Go jerk off.  Whatever.  I don’t care.”

“Fine.  Have it your way, kid.”  Plagg drifted slowly backwards, but Adrien never looked up from the knife.  “Shit,” he muttered, and phased out through the window.

 

* * *

 

Plagg knew who Ladybug was, and he knew how to find her.  He’d never made use of this information before, because he’d never needed to.  But hey, desperate times, and all that.  But damn, it was a lot harder to get to her house when he was traveling under his own steam.

Fortunately, Marinette was sitting alone on her balcony when he arrived, _and_ she had snacks.  He dropped unceremoniously into her lap without warning, panting.

In hind sight, it was probably not the best way to announce his presence.

She jumped up with a shriek, dumping him to the ground and spilling her hot tea on him.  Her mug hit the ground next to him, and shattered.   

“Marinette?”  Tikki poked her head out of one of Marinette’s flowers.  “What’s wrong?”

“Something fell on me!  Oh, getitoffgetitoffgetitoff!”

“Shit, I should have eaten some of that cheese before I left,” he muttered, shaking the tea from his fur. 

 Tikki narrowed her eyes at the muttering shadow, straining to see in the dark.  “Plagg?”

“Is your chosen always this high strung, Tik?”

“Plagg!”  She shot toward him and caught him up in a hug that spun them around in the air.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Tik.”

Marinette knelt on the ground next to them, careful to avoid the shards of broken pottery.  “Tikki?  Is this Chat’s kwami?”

“Yes, this is Plagg!!  But,” she set him away from her with a frown and put her tiny paws on her hips.   “What are you doing here?  You shouldn’t have left your chosen!” 

“My chosen is the problem.”  He floated up to hover in front of Marinette’s face.  “I need your help.”

 

* * *

 

Adrien sat with his left arm propped on his left knee, and watched the blood slowly well and drip from the relatively shallow cuts on his arm.  He’d made three of them over the inside of his bicep, each perfectly straight, and perfectly parallel, though the placement was staggered. 

Just as he always did.

He really didn’t know what Plagg was so worried about.  This was no great injury; he’d experienced far worse at the hands of the various akuma he’d fought over the years.  If an akuma showed up now, he could face it with no more than a twinge in his arm.

 And he had no desire to die.  If that were his wish, he would simply let one of those akuma have him, or throw himself from the top of the Tower.  But death held no appeal.  Plagg needn’t have worried on that score.

No, he just wanted to _feel_.  He liked the feel of the knives in his hands, and he liked the bite of the blade when he slid it through his flesh.

This was something he could control.

This was something he could feel without rebuke.

And when the cuts healed again, the scars would continue to remind him of these rare moments that he allowed himself to feel.

As for the possibility of becoming an akuma himself?  If it hadn’t happened yet, it wasn’t going to.  Even now, he had his emotions leashed.  He’d given them some slack, some room to stretch, but they were still tethered.  Hawkmoth couldn’t find purchase here.  The one time he’d sent a butterfly, Adrien had seen it coming and called for his transformation, and cataclysm.  The stupid thing had flown right into it.

He flexed his arm and watched the play of muscle beneath his skin, and the way it changed the flow of blood from the cuts.  Which was slowing.  He frowned, and lifted the blade to slide it back through the troughs.

A shadow fell over him, and he shifted his grip on the knife, moving into a crouch.

“A-Adrien?”

He faltered, and stood from his crouch.  “Ladybug?”

She dropped from the window into his room, and took a few uncertain steps towards him, and stopped.  “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought her here,” Plagg said lazily, floating near his shoulder.  “You won’t listen to me; maybe you’ll listen to her.”

Adrien closed his eyes with a groan, clenching his jaw.  “Plagg, you little shit!”

“Sorry, not sorry.”  He darted over to the desk on the far wall, and hovered over the platter.  “Ooh, there _is_ camembert here!”

“Fucking Plagg,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Adrien, er, Chat, what—”

“I’m sorry he worried you.  I’m fine.”

She looked from the knife in the wall, to the knife in his hand, and raised a brow.  “Bullshit.”

He dropped the knife in its case and closed the lid with his foot, running his hands through his hair in exasperation.  The motion exposed the inside of his bicep, but he realized his mistake too late to correct it.

She stalked furiously over to him, and gripped his wrist, turning him so that the light from the windows fell directly on his arm. “Fuck, Adrien,” she hissed.  “What have you done to yourself?”

“You can see quite clearly what I’ve done,” he snapped, yanking his arm away.  “There’s no akuma here, and I’m fine.  Good night, Ladybug.”  He grabbed his shirt from the bed and walked toward the bathroom.

She was stunned into silence for a few beats, and then she stomped after him. “Growl at me all you want, you stupid cat, but I’m not leaving.  I actually intercepted a pretty purple butterfly right outside your window, and gave it a nice yo-yo bath.  So you’re not _fine_.  The only choice I’m giving you here is whether you have this conversation with Ladybug—or with the girl underneath.”

He stopped in his tracks, his body rigid.  “What?”

“You were nearly akumatized!”

“No, not that.”

“You heard me,” she said softly, stopping behind him.  “You—you know both sides of me.  Who do you want right now?  Your partner, or your friend?”

He turned slowly to face her.  “You’d reveal yourself?”

“I would.”

“Why?”  He crossed his arms over his chest, totally uncaring of the fresh cuts on his arm.  “Why now?”

“For one thing, I know who _you_ are.  Might as well keep it fair, right?”  He scoffed and began to turn away from her, but she grabbed his arm to stay him.  “But mostly, it’s because I’ve just come to the conclusion that keeping these secrets for so long was brilliantly _stupid_.   You were right, _minou_.  We should have done this a long time ago.”

Adrien studied her for a moment, and relaxed his arms on a sigh.  “What if I say it’s too little, too late?”

  
“You won’t.”  His lips thinned angrily, but he didn’t deny it.  “Please, Adrien.  If you don’t want to see who I am, if you don’t want to talk to me, fine.  But at least let me clean up your arm, and keep you company tonight?”

“Fine.  First aid is in the bathroom.”

She followed him into the huge bathroom, blinking in the sudden light.

“Sorry, I guess I should have warned you before I did that.”

“It’s fine.” 

He pulled a white plastic box from the cabinet beneath the sink and tossed it on the counter.  Then he grabbed a pristine white wash cloth from the linen closet on the far wall, and began to wet it at the sink.

“Here, let me.”  She adjusted the stream of water until it was warm, then took the cloth from him.  “You’re sure you want me to use this?”  She asked, holding it up.

“It’s all I’ve got,” he said gruffly.

“Hmm.”  She soaked the cloth in the warm water, and wrung most of the water out.  “Let me see.”

He held his arm out to her, and he watched her work as she began to gently clean the blood from his skin.  She started near his wrist, where it had run down when he’d stood, and worked her way up his arm.  She stopped just short of the cuts themselves, and rinsed the cloth in more warm water.  When she turned back to him, she ignored his arm and instead wiped away the blood that had smeared on his side and chest as he’d moved. 

His breath caught at her touch, and he suddenly became aware that he was maskless, _shirtless_ , and standing very close to Ladybug, in his home.  He shifted his gaze to her face, but her head was bent and he couldn’t see enough of her expression to read it.  She paused to rinse the cloth again, folded it into quarters, and then pressed it over the cuts.  After several seconds, she wiped gently at it, obviously trying to clean the cuts without hurting him.

“You don’t have to be so careful.”

“Yes, I do.”  She turned the cloth and repeated the gentle action, until all of the dried blood was gone.  They were still oozing a bit, and she pressed the cloth back over his arm for a moment before tossing the bloodied cloth into the sink and wordlessly turning to paw through the white first aid box.  A sealed gauze square, a roll of self-adherent wrap, a bottle of iodine, and a large cotton swab were all placed on the counter next to the box.  She used the swab to rub iodine over the cuts, placed the un-wrapped, coated gauze over them, and then used the sticky wrap to hold it in place.

“Oh, _minou_ ,” she murmured, gently drawing her thumb over the bandage.  Then she bent and pressed a kiss to his bicep, just below the wrap.  “Why would you do this?”

“To feel.”  Her eyes darted to his, finally allowing him to see her face, and he was surprised to see that she’d been crying.  “Are you crying for me, my lady?”

“Yes!”  She swiped at her cheeks angrily.  “Of course I am!  How could I not?”

He stepped closer to her, and framed her face with his hands.  “Why?”

“B-because I love you.”

“You love me.”  He repeated flatly, and his hands fell away.  “You’ve held yourself away from me for _years_ because you love me?”

“I love both of you!”  She whirled and paced to the other end of the room in agitation.  “I thought you and Chat were two different men, and I love both of them.  Pursuing either one of you felt disloyal to the other!  I d-didn’t know who you were,” she sobbed, leaning against the far wall.  “I didn’t l-let myself know, because I-I was afraid.  But i-it was always just y-you, and you’ve been h-hurting yourself, and I didn’t know!  How could I not _know_?”

“I didn’t want you to.”

She looked at him incredulously.  “What?”

“This hell is mine to live.  I didn’t want to drag you, or anyone else down into it.”

“N-no!  That’s not how this works!”  She pushed off of the wall and stalked back toward him, absently wiping the tears from her face.  “Friends rely on one another.  Friends _support_ one another.  If you couldn’t talk to me, and I understand why you didn’t, then why not Nino?  Or Alya or M-Marinette or even Chloe!”

She crowded into his space, and he began backing out of the bathroom, into the darkness of his bedroom.  “You’re making too big a deal of this—” 

“The hell I am!  _Damnit_ , Adrien!”

He backed into his shelf and stopped, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.  He’d seen her angry before, but never like this.  She stopped just short of running into him, and positively glowered, her eyes glittering in the darkness.

“You want to feel something, Adrien?  Feel _this_.”  She grabbed his head and pulled him down to take his mouth in a searing kiss.  There was no hesitation, no bashfulness, no holding back.  This was no sweet first kiss, but a reckoning.

Adrien was momentarily stunned into immobility, but it passed quickly and then he was kissing her back, pouring all of the things he couldn’t or wouldn’t give voice to into the movement of lips and tongue and teeth.  He grabbed her hips and yanked her firmly against him, savoring the feel of her body against his, and for once not feeling guilty for the pleasure. 

He growled, and sucked her tongue into his mouth. Her body rolled against his in response; she made a keening sound in her throat and pressed closer still, her hands beginning to roam.

Without warning, he broke the kiss, gasping for breath.  “Shit.”

“Oh, fuck.”  She dropped her forehead to his chest, breathing heavily.  “I-I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have—This isn’t why—I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want.”

“No, it’s not that.  I want this.  God, I want this.”  She lifted her head to look at him, and he traced a finger along the edge of her mask.  “But I want to see you, to know who I’m loving.  Especially if I know you outside of the mask as well.”

Her eyes widened.  She licked her lips nervously, and her eyes slid closed.  “Tikki, spots off,” she whispered.  A familiar pink light filled the room, one that he had previously only seen from around corners or beneath closed doors.  When it faded, Marinette stood in the loose circle of his arms, where Ladybug had been.  Her eyes fluttered open, the same luminous blue, and he felt shattered.

“Jesus, Mari,” he breathed, and then he was kissing her again, more desperately than before.

 All pretense of restraint evaporated. 

He couldn’t get close enough to her, nor she to him.  She’d locked her arms around his neck and pulled herself up along his body, with one leg hitched up on his hip and wrapped around his thigh.  His hands went to her ass and lifted her against him, both of them moaning at the deliciously intimate contact.  She wrapped her other leg around him, and he staggered around the shelf to fall forward on his bed.

She landed with a bounce, and rather than crawling immediately over her, he tugged the fitted shirt up and over her head to toss it to the floor.  Her bra followed, and then he crawled over her, capturing her mouth and pinning her to the bed with his weight as he pressed into her.  He relished the feel of her heated skin on his, the soft fullness of her breasts against the hardness of his body.

Her legs went around his hips again, her heels digging into his ass, and he bucked against her with a moan.  “Take them off,” she gasped between kisses, kicking at his pants, and he swallowed her words with another moan.

He shifted off of her long enough to shuck his pants, and to pull hers from her hips and down over her long legs.  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured appreciatively, crawling between her legs once more and sliding a finger between her lower lips.  She whimpered. 

“And so fucking wet for me…”  He brought his finger to his mouth to taste her, and she whimpered again. 

“Stop teasing me.”  She leaned up on an elbow to grab the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss, moaning when she tasted herself on his tongue.  They eased back until she was flat on the bed once more.  His erection bobbed against her leg, the tip nudging at her entrance and she squirmed, wanting more.

“Fuck, Mari,” he panted.  “I don’t have—”

“I don’t care.  I’m on the pill.”

“Shit.”  He reached down to rub the head between her lips a few times, then slid the length along her slit. 

She squirmed again, gasping.  “ _Adrien!_ ”  

He laughed breathlessly.  “So impatient.”  He positioned himself at her entrance and sheathed himself entirely, hissing through his teeth.  “ _Dieu_ , you’re tight.”

He began to move and she threw her head back, writhing beneath him with her hands gripping his shoulders and heels in his ass once more.  He took it as an invitation, kissing down her neck to her breasts as he continued his slow pace.  He palmed one, and bent his head to the peak of the other.  She arched into his mouth with a moan, clutching his head with her fingers through his hair.  He growled, sliding his arm under the small of her back to pull her closer, and nipped her gently with his teeth. 

“M-merde, Adrien.  F-faster, I’m close—”

“Slower is better, Princess.”  He leaned forward to brace himself on his arm, changing the angle slightly and slowing his pace further.

“Oh, f-fuck…!  Ngh, not slower, dieu…!”  Her hands fisted in the blanket beneath her.

He reached between them to trace circles on her clit, and she keened, pressing the back of her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.  He felt his own release approaching, but they had time yet.  “Come for me, Marinette.”

She batted his hand away and began rubbing herself, and his eyes widened.  “Goddamn, woman.”  He dropped to his elbow to take her mouth, his tongue keeping the same languid rhythm as his hips.  A tremor went through her body, and she began to clench around him, screaming her release into his mouth.  He swallowed the sounds and kept up the same rhythm until he felt her relax, and only then did he stop. 

He held her as she came down, grateful for the brief reprieve.  He was feeling suddenly a lot closer than he had been, but there was no way in hell he was ready for this to end.  After a few minutes, she stirred, rolling her body beneath him in a way that made his cock jump inside her.

“Hmm.  That _was_ good.”  He smirked, feeling very satisfied with himself.  “But now it’s my turn,” she continued, and the smirk fell. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Roll over.” 

He rolled them so that she was on top, and she sat up, pulling her knees up alongside his hips.  She lifted herself experimentally, hissing at the friction on her still-sensitive flesh.   Then she leaned forward, bracing her arms on his chest, and sank down again.

“If you want to draw it out, tell me before you come.”  He nodded, and she began to ride him at a bruising pace.  It was his turn to grip the blankets now, as she sent him careening toward orgasm without a bit of hesitation.  It didn’t take long to get him there.

“Stop!”

She stopped, holding herself very still, and gave him a few moments of respite.  Then she resumed her pace, this time putting a hand between her legs to touch herself as she rode him.

“F-fuck!  Mari, stop.  Stop.”

She froze mid stroke, giving him another few moments.  This time, when she started up again, her strokes were short as well as fast, and he could tell that she was purposefully using his cock to push herself toward another orgasm. 

“Mari—”

“Dieu, Adrien, I’m close—”

“If you don’t stop—”

“Ah, Dieu, can I keep going?  Almost—”

“Shit, yes, I want to feel you again—”

“Ah-Adrien— _fuck_ —”  Her strokes lengthened again, and she shifted forward, gasping.

“Marinette, fuck, I’m coming…!” 

She fell forward to capture his cries in her mouth, as he had done for her, but she didn’t stop. His body shuddered beneath her, and she kept going as he spilled himself inside her, pushing through until she reached her peak and shattered around him.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, the lay curled together in his bed, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm slung over her body and their legs tangled together beneath the sheet.

“Adrien?”

“Hmm?”

She absently began to trace circles over his stomach with the tip of her finger.  “C-can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

She sat up so that she could look at his face, even though the light was dim.  “Will you promise me something?”

He watched her quietly for a moment, considering.  “That depends on what it is, I suppose.”

She flicked her fingers toward his bandaged arm.   “If you ever want to do that again, please promise me that you’ll talk to one of us first?”

His lips thinned.

“Please?  It doesn’t have to be me.  Just…someone.  So you’re not alone.”

His expression softened, and he took her hand to press a kiss to her palm.  “All  right, Princess.  I promise to talk to someone first.”

She closed her eyes, and heaved a relieved sigh.  “Thank you, _minou_.”

“Did you mean it?”  Her blue eyes opened, and focused on him.  “Earlier, when you said that you—that you love me.  Did you mean it?”

She nodded once, slowly.  “I did.”

“And, does knowing what you know now change anything?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully.  “It does.  It means that I’m in love with one man, not two.  It means that I’m no longer conflicted, and there’s no longer any reason at all for me to hold myself back.”  She bit her lip, and lowered her eyes to where she was drawing circles on the bed with her fingers.  “Unless…I don’t know what you want, in all of this.  If you want to go back to the way things were—”

“That’s the last thing I want.”  He sat up as well, allowing the sheet to pool in his lap, and she looked up to see his face.  “I’ve loved you for years, Marinette.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and he kissed her.

Gently.

Reverently.

It was what their first kiss should have been, and she melted into his embrace with a happy sigh.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And in case anyone is curious/wondering/worried, I'm doing ok. I generally write happy fluff, because happy fluff makes me feel, well, happy. The fluff is _nice_ ; it's a pick me up to read about, and think about, and write about happy, sweet, fun things, even when I'm feeling dark. But sometimes, it's better to write the dark, to give vent to the darker emotions, rather than trying to smother them with happy. Life isn't all sunshine and ladybugs, you know. Sometimes there are weird purple butterflies, too.


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